


Guilty Pleasures

by Fudgyokra



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: (For AmeCan), M/M, Multi, Pseudo-Incest, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 11:19:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fudgyokra/pseuds/Fudgyokra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Canada considered America and Russia to be his guilty pleasures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guilty Pleasures

**Author's Note:**

> Transferred from my Fanfiction account and written for FFN user Princess Ramen-8018. This is pretty old.

The world summit meeting had started as usual: With Germany making futile attempts to lecture, America stealing the attention away to say something completely dumb, Korea groping China, Switzerland threatening people, Prussia laughing his drunken ass off, Russia sitting on a protesting Canada, and France trying to seduce England whilst England yelled several vulgar insults in response. Normality at its finest.

Yes, the meeting had started as always - it ended far from that, however. Or, at least, it did for Canada.

The first odd thing that happened after the meeting adjourned was that someone recognized him. Normally, this would have been a good thing, but, instead, it had to be Russia that took notice, and this could potentially be a very bad thing, indeed. The second thing was that the Russian nation had followed him home, and by the time Canada had gotten out of his car, he heard footsteps approaching him. The third was what Russia said to him once the Canadian had determined who it was behind him.

"Matthew," the man whispered, the mere sound of his voice sending chills up Canada's spine.

The latter grunted. No one besides France and America ever called him by his real name... It was more a term of endearment than an actual name.

"I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise...?"

"Da, it is quite a lovely one, in my opinion."

Silence enveloped them for a moment, and that was when Canada heard the laughing.

"Hahaha, dude! You should see the look on your face right now!" America chirped, stepping out of Russia's car from the passenger's side.

Canada paled. "America? What are you... What is he... What's going on?"

America strode up to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders a little less casually than he may have realized. "Russia and I were...talking a couple days ago, and, funny thing, you came up as a subject, and, well, ya know, being the awesomely heroic dude I am, I decided-"

Upon seeing the confused look on Canada's face, Russia quickly cut in. "What my comrade is trying to say here, is, while we were discussing some things, you came up."

"How did I end up being the subject?" Canada attempted to shrug the American nation off, to no avail. "What were you guys even talking about?"

The two elder nations exchanged glances, America with a sly smile, Russia with a rather peculiar-sounding chuckle. "Nothing you really need to know about," the latter replied, laying a hand on Canada's shoulder.

"Anyway, while we were talking, I figured out that Russia totally has this thing for you, and I was all, dude, I think-"

Again, the Russian cut him off, looking slightly annoyed. "You are quite a handsome young boy, Matvey, and we've decided to have our way."

"Have your..." Canada trailed off, eyes narrowing, a flush spreading across his cheeks. "And just what do you mean by that, eh?"

"You know what we mean, dude," America said before Russia could. He grinned, sliding his arm from his brother's shoulders.

Canada was silent for a long while. "America, we're..."

"Brothers?" America helped, still smiling his childish smile of excitement. "Yeah, I know. But it ain't like we're blood related, so it's cool."

Russia smiled sweetly.  Canada turned a darker shade of red. "So you guys are talking about what I'm thinking of?"

"That all depends," Russia began.

This time it was America's turn to cut the man off. "What are you thinking? Something dirty, Mattie?"

Canada was reduced to incoherent stutters. To this, the other men laughed, and America piped up again. "Come on, let's go inside and live out those fantasies in your head."

"There are no fantasies in my-"

Before the youngest could even finish, the others had already dragged him up to his front door. "Where're your keys?" America asked, his hands already all over Canada's hips, feeling for the keys in his pockets.

"Don't touch me." Canada protested, pouting as he shoved the other male away.

"Why? My touch drivin' you wild?" America beamed.

Russia rolled his eyes. "Keep it in your pants, Alfred. At least until we reach the bedroom."

"I never agreed to this." Canada dug around in his pocket, withdrawing his keys as he mumbled something else under his breath.

"You're letting us in your house," America pointed out, holding up a finger.

Russia smiled as the younger brother unlocked his front door and muttered, "All right, fine. Shut up and go inside, already."

The two merrily obeyed, and the moment Canada shut the door behind them, they each grabbed one of his wrists, leading him up the staircase to their right. By the time they'd hit the third step (America the fourth, being ever-eager), the two elder men already had half of their clothing shed, littering the staircase as they ascended.

Canada felt more blood rush to his face - as impossible as that seemed, judging by how red it already was - and more of it go...elsewhere. For a moment he slowed his walking, Russia and America having clambered up the next five or so stairs at ultra-speed, currently stripped down to their underwear. He couldn't help but chuckle, despite the situation. It was rather amusing to see them like this, since he thought they hated each other, as did most of the nations. Well, the youngest country thought decidedly as he slowly followed the men up, maybe their relationship is like England and France's - a love/hate sort.

His thoughts were suddenly cut short by a thump, mingled with the sound of a startled grunt. He opened his mouth to pose a question, but the words died on his tongue once he realized that the others were no longer on the stairs. "America? Russia?" he inquired at length. "Did you guys decide to pick a fight while I hung behi-"

He climbed the last two steps and turned the corner, cutting himself off upon seeing the two - now entirely undressed - sharing a heated kiss, America backed up against the wall with Russia's hands on either side of his head.

Any blood left in his face was slowly sinking south of the border. He cleared his throat, trying to convey this awkward feeling.

Russia noticed, peeking at him from the corner of his eye. For a moment, he broke apart, leaving America panting on the wall. "Why don't you join us?" He tilted his head, a kid-like smile on his face, but something much darker glinting in his eyes. "You seem to be enjoying the show."

Canada coughed awkwardly, a little too far in the situation to be able to truthfully deny it.

America finally opened his eyes, glancing at his brother with a sly smile. "Yeah, c'mon, man."

Hesitantly, the Canadian nation wandered over, pausing before the two of them. After a quick chastisement on being too shy, America pulled his brother against him by the hips, eliciting a squeak of surprise from the younger.

Russia chuckled, molding himself against Canada's back and effectively trapping the man between himself and America.

The latter spoke first. "Your jeans are scratching my dick," he said unceremoniously. "Take 'em off."

"Or," Russia began lightly, "we could do it for you."

Canada was again reduced to odd sputters that may or may not have been words, so the others took it as a 'yes' and began undressing him, America working on his jacket and t-shirt, and Russia circling his hands around to undo his zipper.

"Guys...," he whispered, lifting his arms without really thinking about it to allow his shirt's removal. Before he continued, he felt his pants and boxers being tugged down, and another weak wave of heat attack both face and nether regions. "I don't exactly have much experience in this field, you know..."

America seemed to ignore the statement, instead bucking his hips against his brother, who clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a gasp.

Russia chuckled, grabbing his wrist gently and pulling it away from his mouth. "That is quite all right."

Canada tried to look over his shoulder at the man, though this proved to be difficult when he was pressed flush against America, who was grinding against him like he intended to do him right here in the hallway. "America," his voice wavered. "Careful..."

"Ahhn, sorry."

Now an amused smile took its place on the Russian's face. "You will have fun." America nodded once, apparently too breathless to speak at the moment.

Canada opened his mouth to reply. No words came out, so he simply closed it again, trying to ignore the burning chagrin in his face.

"We should probably head to the bedroom," Russia suggested, smile still in tact as he watched the American grind against his brother, eyes squeezed close and lips parted in an effort to catch more air.

"Mmf-! Ah, oui..."

" _Yes_."

All movement stilled on the brothers' end, and Russia took a step back, watching as Canada did the same, though slightly more unstable, as he held himself on quivering legs. The three of them headed for the bedroom, Canada leading. "I can't believe I'm actually agreeing to this..." he murmured, mostly to himself.

America chuckled and Russia spoke. "We can."

"Oh, shut up."

Once they'd made it into the room, the Russian man took the liberty of shutting the door behind them, watching America drag his brother over to the bed, then push him onto it. "So, how we gonna do this?" he inquired, grinning at a bashful-looking Canada before casting a glance at Russia, who was just making his way over.

"Hm, I suggest we treat Matvey tonight; he is less experienced, after all."

America nodded, removing his glasses. "Sounds good to me." He set the lenses down on the bedside table, blinking a few times before holding his hand out to Canada. "Gimme yours."

It took the younger male a minute to realize America had been gesturing to his glasses. "But..."

"You don't want 'em broken if they accidentally fall off. And believe me, you won't notice if they do fall off."

Russia cackled a bit, but Canada didn't hear. "Okay..." Hesitantly, he took the glasses off, blinking as his brother had. America relieved them from his grasp, then instructed him to get up on his shins, which he did without question.

The elder nation smiled, getting into the same position behind his younger half and putting his mouth next to his ear. "Good boy," he whispered, smiling wider when Canada tensed.

Russia took his place in front of the Canadian, offering a smile that was a bit less alligator-like than America's. "And good boys always get good rewards, da?"

"Right," America purred, running the fingertips of one hand down Canada's spine.

The latter felt goosebumps raise on his skin, and he flinched a little.

"Don't worry, we'll play nice," Russia assured him, leaning down and claiming his lips without warning.

An embarrassing squeak was emitted from the youngest boy's mouth, while America looked on with a smug expression. The moment Russia broke the kiss, America reached forward and gripped his chin, pulling him forward into another one. At this, Canada whimpered, a little startled that they'd decided to do this so close to him. Their chins occasionally bumped into his shoulder, driving him toward the need to tilt his head and avoid them. This plan had the desired effect for a brief moment, but that was before his companions separated, and America immediately latched his mouth onto the tender skin.

Canada gasped, squeezing his eyes shut as America kissed his neck, his fingers curling and uncurling at his sides. Russia, meanwhile, had his own fingers in his mouth, humming delightedly at the various thoughts he'd conjured up of how it all would play out. Judging from the way the boy was acting now, he imagined Canada would be very vocal. An easy grin slid across his face; that would be just fine with him.

Once he'd judged them ready, his fingers left his mouth with a pop. While Canada's eyes were still closed, he slid his hand between his legs. This, of course, got his eyes to shoot right back open again the same instance a blush spread across his cheeks. "Russia."

America backed off his brother's shoulder, silently looking over the hickey he'd left with a satisfied admiration. "Relax, dude," he assured automatically. "It's what you do."

Canada's face darkened further. "I know what the basics are, America. I am France's son, after all. I just - I wasn't - I didn't..."

Before the sentence even made it out of his mouth, Russia had pressed his index finger into the boy's entrance, eliciting a sharp cry.

"Ngh, hey!" Canada's legs quivered as Russia thrust the digit in and out of him. "Ahh..."

America let out a breathy sigh, itching to get to his own need, but refusing to let his younger sibling go unattended. So, both in order to distract himself and Canada, he rested his chin on the other's shoulder, sliding his hands up and down his sides. "It does get better, by the way. This is just...insurance."

Canada nodded quickly, as if to say "I know."

Russia loved the expression on the Northern brother's face. He could barely keep from going too fast, though he did stand to add another finger, smirking at the flinch and whine his subject made. Truthfully, he'd love to just forget the preparation and pound into him right then, but he knew that would be rather unceremonious, not to mention painful, for the Canadian. So, reluctantly, he contained himself.

America hummed and nipped at Canada's ear, his hands massaging his shoulders as if preparing him for a fight. "You'll love it," he whispered, smirking. His mouth was so close that Canada could feel the expression against his abused ear.

Still, he could say nothing; his voice didn't seem to want to work. Presently, he moaned, disproving himself, thinking instead that it was his words that didn't want to cooperate, rather than his voice in general. No, no - his voice was working just fine. Russia proved that when he pressed a third digit up with the other two, and he heard himself mutter a breathy curse in French that mingled with another whine. "Ahh... S'il vous plaît..."

"What was that?" America inquired, watching as the Russian nation withdrew his fingers and backed up. He shoved his brother forward good-naturedly, sending him on his hands and knees with a surprised yelp before he could translate his pleading French.

"It's French for 'please', moi dorogoi." Russia smiled down at the Canadian, whose face was hardly an inch from his erection.

The youngest male spluttered, brushing some hair out of his face as he stared at the organ looming before him. "And Papa always told me I was...well-endowed."

Russia simply smiled wider, thanking him for the compliment, but America gained a quizzical look. "I thought you said you were inexperienced."

"I am..." Canada flushed a little, looking over his shoulder at his brother.

"Then how does France know...?"

To this, a nervous giggle left Canada's lips. "Oh. We share a bedroom-"

"Of course you do," America interrupted with a mumble.

"-so we change in the same room."

"Thought I'd be the first to see you naked." America smirked, gripping his brother's hips. "At least I'll be the first one to do this."

Russia matched the American's smirk. "Be careful, dorogoi."

"I know, I know."

Canada felt the tip of America's manhood press against his entrance, and he had to resist the urge to squirm.

It wasn't until the American nation was already halfway inside him that Canada realized just how much this was going to hurt. (His subconscious was busy thinking: Fuck, when did his brother get so damned big down there? They'd grown up together and America never seemed any longer than average. Seriously, did England give him those genes, or what?)

Russia smiled and lifted him back onto his shins; once he was back up, he felt America push all the way inside more acutely. He heard himself saying his brother's name without his brain telling him to say anything at all.

"Just like that, baby," was the response he got. "Say my name..."

Canada whined, feeling his face heat up for the hundredth time that night. He opened his mouth, as if he were going to obey the American's request, but an entirely different name spilled out instead as Russia's fingers curled around his cock.

All movement halted for a brief moment; the youngest country felt his breathing hitch. Russia shot him a quick smile before bringing the organ to his lips, and then America was moving again - pulling out this time, halfway down before slamming back up again.

Canada cried out, his hands darting out and grabbing hold of Russia's hair.

"Sorry, dear," America hummed, brushing his fingers up the man's spine again.

He readied himself to do it again; the Canadian felt his angle shift ever-so-slightly, and yet it made a huge difference as he pushed back in.

Instead of a pained exclamation, a wanton moan left his mouth. "Mon Dieu! There! Again!"

America beamed. "Wow, found that fast."

Russia found himself chuckling at the boys' enthusiasm. He got distracted for a moment, watching the two of them, before he remembered what he was supposed to be doing. Lowering his gaze, he flicked his tongue out against the head of the Canadian's length, internally smiling at the little gasp he received in response. For a moment, it even looked like Canada was going to say something, but nothing was ever said; the only sounds filling the room now were America's grunts and Canada's whines.

More appeased with this than he should've been, the eldest nation turned the organ in his hand up, running his tongue from base to tip, eyeing Canada through white-blonde eyelashes. The latter had his eyes closed tightly, mouth open and spilling groans mixed with brief phrases in French; his head was leaned back on America's shoulder.

Lovely, Russia thought, humming in satisfaction as he stopped teasing the poor man and took his member into his mouth.

Canada squirmed, breathed a single expletive, and cracked one eye open to look downward.

Not one to be outdone, America pulled almost all the way out this time, thrusting up harder and beaming as his brother's eyes shot open. "Mon Dieu, Alfred," he arched his back, quietly apologizing when he realized he'd bucked forward into Russia's mouth.

The elder nation hummed as a way to accept his apology, not really concerned about it; he could handle it, anyway.

"Guys," Canada murmured, his eyes falling half-lidded while he spoke through light pants and gasps. "I think..."

"Gotcha," America said, beaming. "With ya all the way, babe." He nodded to reaffirm his statement, pushing deeper into the Canadian, taking delight in the fact that the younger male was eagerly pressing back against him, unable to keep the little mewls escaping his mouth at bay.

Meanwhile, the Russian busied himself sucking noisily in an attempt to sound as lewd as possible, knowing that America usually responded well to that. Not surprisingly, Canada did, too, chewing at his bottom lip and throwing his head back against his brother's shoulder again. "Almost there," he murmured, squeezing his eyes shut. "Nnn..."

America turned his head to kiss the younger brother's cheek, managing a hum of agreement between breaths.

With the American panting in his ear and his other companion doing such devilish things between his legs, it didn't surprise anyone when Canada came with a slurred cry of the other nations' names, his legs buckling so badly that America tightened his grip on his hips to hold him up.

The latter took that as his cue, following soon after with a gasp, which he stifled by nuzzling his face into Canada's neck.

Russia looked up and swallowed, backing away to take a short breath. "Ah, that was lovely, Matvey," he proclaimed with a cheery smile, raising up to brush the Canadian's hair away from his flushed face while he murmured something inaudible in response. "Hope you're not tired, dorogoi."

America chuckled, pulling out and removing his hands from Canada's hips, decidedly neglecting to mention the nail marks he'd left.

"Quoi?" the youngest male inquired, swaying a bit before catching himself on Russia's shoulders.

"I said 'hope you're not tired'." Russia smiled dangerously. "It's my turn, now."

* * *

 

The meeting the next morning was going to end in a bloodbath, if Canada had anything to say about it (which, as usual, he wouldn't.) He was going to kill Russia and America for last night, just like his ass was killing him.

Throughout the first five fightless minutes of the get-together, he envisioned just how much fun it would be to smack the both of them in the head with a hockey stick; once those five minutes concluded with France making a dirty pun directed at China, the world summit took off on its usual path of destruction with China wrestling France on the table, France most definitely enjoying it, Korea animatedly chattering to Hong Kong in the corner, Romano sending glances of practically palpable sexual tension toward Spain, and Germany wondering if it was worth the trouble to separate Greece and Turkey from each other's choke-holds.  Canada sighed, slumping against the back of his seat and cringing at the stinging in his rear. He was certainly going to kill them. (He wouldn't; he only told himself that to try and ease the pain.)

Presently, America materialized at his side, his arm slung around his shoulders in the same definitely-not-casual manner he'd used yesterday evening. "Heya, bro. How ya feelin'?"

"Like punching you in the mouth," the younger brother replied cheerily, smiling over at America.

The latter cleared his throat and slid his arm off. "Okie dokie, then! Catch ya later, yeah?" With a nervous laugh on his part, he slinked off, most likely to meet with Russia in the janitor's closet.

And thus ended the tale of Canada's odd encounter with someone who remembered his name. The lesson learned was that he would forever be thankful for no one knowing who he was. (That was a lie; he'd probably end up inviting them over again, but oh, well.)

They were his guilty pleasures, so what?


End file.
